


Together

by MrChinnery



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Injured Greg, M/M, no one dies I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 23:00:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2750303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrChinnery/pseuds/MrChinnery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade had become good friends with Mycroft Holmes. After Greg is seriously injured, new feelings come to light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade was standing at what felt like the 100th crime scene in a week. A serial killer was running rampant sending Molly two clients almost every day and even Sherlock was stumped. It was raining, everyone was frustrated, and Greg thought there was no possible way it could get worse.  
Except it did.  
“Sherlock! Do you have any useful information from this crime scene?”  
Sherlock looked up with an irritated expression, mumbled something about his mind palace and preceded to block out the rest of the world. Greg looked to John who just shrugged.  
Greg took a look around at the crowd surrounding the crime scene and sighed. Why people were so fascinated by these types of things he would never know.  
Just then, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He smiled when he read who the text was from, Mycroft Holmes.  
Want to grab a late lunch? -MH  
Greg sighed again and sent his response.  
Whether I want to or whether I can is a completely different story. I’m sorry but I can’t. We got another body and I’ll probably be at work all night -GL  
No worries, we can reschedule for a different date. -MH  
Greg thought about his relationship with the elder Holmes. After he dragged Sherlock from his 3rd drug den, Mycroft kidnapped him in the same fashion he kidnapped John. After the initial meeting, they stuck to talking strictly about business, until they found they were talking about each other and themselves more than business. He discovered that he enjoyed talking to the younger man. If he was honest with himself, and he rarely was, he could admit that there was more than a friendly liking there, at least on his side… If he was really honest with himself, which he never was, he could admit that he loved Mycroft. He wasn't sure how Mycroft felt. Greg had never had the courage to try to take their ‘relationship’ to the next level. He always worried Mycroft would say no and never speak to him again. After all, who wants to be with a 51 year-old copper with greying hair, who spent more time working than was probably healthy? Having some of Mycroft was better than having none of him.  
Greg was interrupted in his musing when he heard “Detective Inspector Lestrade!” being shouted from the crowd around the crime scene.  
When he turned towards the sound of the voice, he saw a tall bloke with red hair who seemed familiar. The next thing Greg knew, the man was pointing a gun at him and said:  
“This is for my brother” and fired.  
Greg heard shouts and screams but all that was muffled compared to the pain in his chest. He saw John rush over to him and support him as he fell to the ground. The last thing he thought of before everything went dark was Mycroft.


	2. Chapter 2

About a half an hour away from the crime scene, Mycroft Holmes ‘a minor government official’ was sitting at his desk making plans for his next meeting with the Prime Minister when his assistant, Anthea, rushed in.

“Sir, I-”

“Anthea I asked for no disturbances until-”

“But sir it’s Inspector Lestrade.” Mycroft's pen paused mid-sentence. “He was shot at a crime scene about 5 minutes ago.”

Mycroft’s stomach dropped. He had a certain fondness for the silver-haired detective. A friendship had blossomed since Sherlock got involved with Gregory. They talked or texted and met for meals or coffee as much as they could with their demanding jobs. First it had all been about Sherlock, as very nearly everything always was, but soon Gregory seemed to find his way through Sherlock, past the seemingly impenetrable facade of Mycroft Holmes, and actually, managed to give a good bit of advice. For what it was worth, Mycroft felt safe around Gregory, as if things spoke in confidence would really remain in confidence. A type of relationship, Mycroft found few and far between in his world of hushed voices and habitual blackmail. He would be simply devastated if he lost the inspector. Not only because he was useful but he was helpful and considerate and a good listener, more than averagely intelligent, more than averagely good-looking; Maybe there was more to his feelings than just fondness? Mycroft was startled out of his thoughts by the realisation but had only a moment to contemplate it before he realized Anthea was trying to get his attention; 

“Sir? Have you heard anything I’ve said?”

Mycroft tried to retain his unflappable air, “Apologies Anthea, if you could repeat what you were saying?”

“The Detective Inspector was shot in the right shoulder and has been taken to Barts for surgery. The shooter escaped through the crowd and a search is taking place now.”

Mycroft was out of his seat before Anthea even finished speaking, heading for the door to his office. Anthea, being the smart woman she was, had already called the driver who was waiting outside to take her boss to Barts.

Within a few moments, Mycroft was down the road, anxiously drumming his fingers on his thigh as he considered the situation. He had a mind palace like Sherlock, he taught his dear brother how to make one, but he rarely needed it. Until now. The present situation called for something more than just resourceful manipulation, it was hard to manipulate one’s own mind for the best results. He dove deep into his mind palace to sort out his feelings.

Gregory Lestrade, Detective Inspector at New Scotland Yard. Divorced, no children, bisexual. Played football in school, bilingual (french and english) mother was french, blind, father was english died shortly after he made sergeant, two siblings, older brother younger sister. Started helping Sherlock eight years ago, began work relationship with me eight years ago, discussion started being more friendly seven years ago. Attractive, anyone could see that, started greying shortly after beginning working relationship with me. Great smile, great laugh, beautiful brown eyes-

Mycroft snapped out of his mind palace when he felt the car stop and noticed his driver motioning that they had arrived. He jumped out of the car as soon as he had gathered his wits and walked, calmly, into the hospital lobby.

He’d been here nearly a dozen times before, on account of Sherlock’s forays into medical, chemical, and generally scientific self-experimentation, and so had a good idea where the Detective would be. However, the woman at the front desk stopped him anyway.

“Sir, I need you to check-”

“Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade.” His voice came out abnormally loud, and he cleared his throat before starting again, “If I may just-”

“He’s in surgery. The only information the doctor gave me was that it doesn’t look good. I’m sorry.” The woman replied, clicking away at her computer.

Mycroft almost fainted.

Looking around the lobby, Mycroft saw John, who was typing away on his phone, probably getting updates from Sergeant Donovan, and Sherlock, who was looking at him in a way that Mycroft knew couldn’t be good. Trying to regain his composure, he pulled out his own mobile, checking to see if his flight to Yemen could be moved, when he was temporarily saved from his brothers words as John spoke,

"Donovan said they found the shooter. His name is Michael Evans. They found him in his flat, shortly after the shooting. Evans' younger brother, Sam, went to prison for class A drug possession and was killed in prison 3 days ago. Greg was the arresting officer who sent Sam to prison. "

Mycroft breathed out a sigh of relief with the knowledge that the man who did this Gregory has been caught and arrested. 

“Ah, brother mine, come to check on the inspector, or are you here to refill your prescription of weight loss pills?”

“Sherlock don’t be such a twat.” John said, looking up from his mobile.

“Well, brother dear, I heard about the incident earlier and decided to come check on the Inspector myself, as I do consider us to be friends.” Mycroft coolly responded.

Sherlock looked at his brother with that analysing expression that Mycroft knew only bode trouble.

“I’m glad you’ve taken such an… interest, in your… friends, Mycroft.” Sherlock said in response. Mycroft glared at his brother in a way that he hoped Sherlock would let it go. Sherlock did stop talking, but a smirk played on his lips as he watched his older brother sit down next to John.


	3. Chapter 3

For three hours the three sat, waiting for Greg to get out of surgery. It was agonizing. All Mycroft could do for those three hours was think about the new revelations he’d had that day. He once again receded into his mind palace, ignoring his brother’s snort as he noticed, and went back to where he left off:

Great smile, great laugh, beautiful brown eyes, perfectly tanned skin, excellent frame, broad shoulders, with runners legs- wait, what? When did I start paying so much attention to how he looked. Focus, move away from physical attributes. Personality. Funny with a sarcastic sense of humor, smart (contrary to what Sherlock says), cares deeply about all his friends and family, great listener- Good lord, I’m turning sentimental again. Maybe I really do care about him more than I thought? Could I see myself going on dates with him, relaxing with a good book, taking that vacation, doing generally coupley things with him?... Loving him? Yes. I could.

Mycroft startled himself out of his mind palace with this revelation. John looked over questioningly at his little startle but Sherlock just kept looking over with that damn smirk. Before Mycroft could say anything, a doctor came in calling for the family of a Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. The three jumped up and walked over to the doctor who looked at them with slight confusion.

“Are any of you related to Inspector Lestrade?”

“No we’re just close friends-” John began but was cut off by the doctor.

“Does the Inspector have any close family near-by?.” John shook his head. “I apologize but unless you are related to him, I can’t report any information. It’s hospital policy.” The doctor turned and walked away when a nurse called to him.

Mycroft cursed inwardly and took out his phone to make a few calls. Soon after, the phone rang at the receptionist. After hanging up the call, a, slightly frightened-slightly bemused, nurse led them back to the ICU to a room where she opened the door and left.

 

John went right to the charts at the end of the bed to check Greg’s status. Sherlock moved to sit in one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs with his hands steepled beneath his chin. Mycroft stood frozen in the doorway after seeing Gregory. 

IV tubes went into both arms. One pumping a clear liquid, and the other a dark maroon. He was pale and his hair stuck sweatily to his head in a totally non sexy way. He looked so frail. Mycroft looked up at John when he cleared his throat.

“The bullet entered his body and ricocheted off of his 2nd and 3rd ribs of his right side, missing his lungs, but damaging the Axillary Artery, breaking his scapula, and damaging a lot of muscle in the process before exiting through his shoulder. He lost about 3 pints of blood, which was the main concern for the doctors in repairing the artery. He will have to undertake physical therapy to heal his shoulder correctly and might not have proper movement back.” John finished speaking and watched curiously as Mycroft collapsed into the chair across from Sherlock. 

“Are you okay?” John asked him. “You look a little… peakish yourself.”

“Uh, yes John, I am f-fine. No n-need to worry.” Mycroft managed to stutter out and cursed himself for his uneven voice. He noticed Sherlock looking at him a little softer than before and without that smirk he’d been wearing since seeing his older brother enter the hospital. John, seeing this exchange, said, “I’ll, um, just go to the loo…” and left.

Mycroft closed his eyes and waited for the mocking and the questions to start.

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” Sherlock asked softly. 

Mycroft was not expecting Sherlock to be so soft spoken. He opened his eyes and glanced up at his brother. 

“Y-yes. Atleast, I think so.” He responded, knowing there was no point in lying.

“You didn’t realize until today?” 

Mycroft nodded, as Sherlock continued

“When you first came into the hospital, I thought you were only, what’s the term? Friends with benefits and you were only here to secure your latest conquest. I didn’t realize until John read his chart how you really felt. When you basically collapsed into the chair I realized you were actually in love with Geoff”

“Greg.”

 

The voice from the bed made them both jump. The Holmes brothers looked towards the head of the bed to see Greg’s eyes open and staring at Mycroft even though he addressed Sherlock. Mycroft was having a panic attack inside his mind. Oh no he heard. Now he’s going to ask me to leave and never talk to him again. If he wanted our relationship furthered, he would have done it himself. Oh no what will I do?

Greg, meanwhile, noticed all this going on inside Mycroft’s head and reached out with the hand from his uninjured side to lay on Mycroft’s, which was laying on the bed. Mycroft’s rambling inside his head came to an abrupt stop when he felt the weight of Gregory’s hand. Mycroft just stared into Gregory’s chocolate brown eyes. Not as bright as they normally were, but still so full of warmth. Neither man noticed Sherlock leave the room, or John entering and turning around and leaving again.


	4. Chapter 4

When Greg first woke up, everything was fuzzy and he couldn’t remember what happened. He was in the hospital. He could hear the beeping of a heart monitor. Then he registered the pain in his chest and shoulder and then everything came back to him. The pain killers and other drugs were making it hard for him to open his eyes. He realized Sherlock was talking to someone. What was he saying? Wait, did he just ask if someone was in love with me? No way, it’s the drugs talking. ...Mycroft? Did he just say he loved me? Greg almost opened his eyes to make sure this wasn’t a dream, but he needed to find out more, or as Sherlock would say, he needed more data. Sherlock kept talking, about how Mycroft reacted to what happened to him, and when he said the wrong name, Greg corrected him automatically without thinking about it. Bollocks, stupid painkillers removing my brain to mouth filter. He opened his eyes and looked right at Mycroft, who seemed on the verge of a heart attack. 

Stupid git doesn’t think I feel the same way. He’s panicking. 

Greg put his hand over Mycroft’s, and waited until he made eye-contact with the inspector. Greg stared into Mycroft’s blue eyes. Greg could swear they changed color every time he saw him: grey blue, ice blue, dark blue, but now they had settled on a light shade, one clear and more than a little vulnerable.

As the silence grew, both men seemed to come back to themselves. They first noticed that Sherlock had left. Greg looked down and noticed his hand was still on top of Mycroft’s. He shifted his own hand under Mycroft’s and laced their fingers together, giving Mycroft’s hand a light squeeze. 

“Mycroft, you daft tosser, I feel the same way. I figured it out months ago if I’m honest.”

Greg noticed Mycroft had frozen completely as he spoke. To his dismay, he saw doubt in Mycroft’s eyes.

“If you figured it out, why didn’t you say anything? Why not ask me to go to a more formal dinner than what we usually do, or give me any kind of sign? I’m sorry, Gregory, I want to believe you, but with my line of work, it’s hard to trust some one like this without any sort of evidence.”

Greg hated that look in Mycroft’s eyes; the look that said people had lied to him about his worth, and how much he meant to them.

“Myc, I doubted myself. I could only think that you never would want me like that. I’m 51 years old, I’m divorced because I cared more about my job than my wife, I’m not exactly in perfect shape, and I just thought you would be the one who said no and turned away from me.” 

“You’re both idiots.” The two men turned to see Sherlock standing in the doorway with John peeking sheepishly over his shoulder. “Can you both just let go of your moronic insecurities and, I might throw up saying this, kiss and make up?” 

Mycroft, as he recovered from his earlier shock, raised an eyebrow at his little brother who stood peculiarly close to the other man, unconsciously seeking out the other’s warmth. “I could say the same to you dear brother.”

Sherlock and John both blushed and glanced at each other before hastily leaving Mycroft and Greg alone. They smirked quietly together before Greg spoke, with that smart-arse grin on his face.

“So, in the words of his nibbs, want to ‘kiss and make up’ Myc?” 

Mycroft smiled and leaned down so that Greg wouldn’t have to strain his injury and hesitantly pressed his lips to Greg’s. The kiss was soft and sweet; definitely a first kiss as they got to know each other’s lips. When Mycroft pulled away after a few seconds, both men had the biggest grins on their face since this whole ordeal began. 

They stared into each other’s eyes until the ache in Greg’s shoulder progressed to a sharpening twinge, and he could no longer keep the pain off his face. Looking at his shoulder, where it was bandaged. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t really been able to move it. He looked back at Mycroft questioningly and asked,

“What’s the verdict on my injury?”

Mycroft’s eyes flicked down and away. He didn’t respond for a couple minutes.

“Mycroft? What is it?”

Mycroft looked back at Greg and hesitantly said,

“The bullet caused extensive damage to the muscle in your shoulder. The doctors believe that even with physical therapy, you probably won’t have full use of your shoulder again.”

The silence that followed as Greg processed this news was heavy with sadness. Never get full use of my shoulder? But I’m right handed. I do everything on my right side. How am I supposed to be a cop with a bum shoulder? They’re going to promote me to some boring desk job. I’m not ready for that. What am I going to do?

As Greg was having this crisis inside his mind, he felt a warm hand on his face and looked up at Mycroft, who was finally back to his calm, composed self.

“Don’t worry Gregory. We’ll work through this, and anything else that comes our way, and I promise you won’t be placed at a desk until you want to be.” He said with a small smile.

Greg looked at Mycroft and only saw determination and affection in his eyes. Greg bit his lip, nodded, and said, “Yeah. We’ll be fine as long as we work through our problems. Together.”

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> Well. This is the first fic I've ever written. I co-wrote it with delicatesidesweep my tumblr buddy. Please leave comments and ideas for us!!! Find me on at dontjudgemyobsession on tumblr :)  
> Both of us are American so let us know if there are any glaring mistakes in the language or the situation.  
> The fic will be four short chapters and I plan on posting the others tonight.


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